Danger Zone
by niagaraweasel
Summary: Just a little scene between Guerrero and Junior after the end of an assignment. My first attempt at writing anything that might even remotely be called slash, so consider yourself warned...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement**

**A/N: *Please* don't ask me where this plot bunny came from… I have absolutely no idea…. **

Junior returned to the rather seedy motel room they had rented looking like a drowned rat –and a rather muddy one at that. Guerrero looked up from the carton of Chinese take-out he was munching on and took in the bedraggled appearance of his partner….friend…whatever… One eyebrow rose in an unspoken question as he unobtrusively checked the younger man for any signs of obvious – and not so obvious – injuries. A small cut over one eyebrow, that had apparently stopped bleeding some time ago. A slight limp, enough to let him know something was wrong, but not enough for anything to be broken. Nothing serious then. Good.

"Job's done, but things didn't quite go according to plan. Had to take a dive out of a second-storey window," Junior answered, slowly making his way across the room toward the bathroom, shivering in the wet clothes.

"With you they never do, dude."

Involuntarily, Guerrero found himself noticing a few other, and decidedly non-essential – details about the man…. That his wet blond hair was plastered to his head in a way that could have come straight out of a CK ad; the way the soaked shirt clung to his chest, alternately molded against firm muscle and giving way to movement; the path of one particular raindrop as it slid down the side of his face and along his neck….

While one small and usually ruthlessly suppressed part of Guerrero's mind catalogued all of these impressions and filed them away for future use, another part wondered why the hell he even noticed them at all… and why all of a sudden it was so damn hard _not_ to notice them.

"Go get yourself cleaned up."

With the bathroom door closed behind Junior, Guerrero was deprived of the visual stimulus, but he could still hear the wet splat of soggy clothes hitting the tiles of the bathroom and the sound of the running water in the shower – and his imagination provided the rest…

A couple of minutes later Junior stepped out of the bathroom again, a towel wrapped around his waist. As he walked over to the bed, he tried his best not to limp. The hot water had helped, but not all that much, and obviously not enough to fool Guerrero, if the look on his face was any indication.

"Something wrong with your leg or are you auditioning for Long John Silver?"

"Nah, it's nothing." Junior tried to deflect the question. "I landed pretty hard when I went through that window. Probably just pulled a muscle. It'll be fine by tomorrow morning." But for all that, he couldn't quite suppress a slight groan as his legs came in contact with the mattress.

"Lie down on the bed. I'll massage it."

For an instant, Junior seemed to freeze on the spot. "You what?!" The response was as automatic as it was vehement. Feeling Guerrero's hands on almost every part of his body while the older man was treating an assortment of wounds was one thing, *****this***** was a whole different kettle of fish – and one that could have all kinds of embarrassing consequences.

"You heard me."

For a moment Junior thought about simply refusing. But the problem was, Guerrero had a point – the job was finished, and Junior was pretty sure that it could not be traced back to them, but on the off chance that they still had to make a quick getaway, it wouldn't do to get caught because he was slowed down by something as stupid as a pulled muscle, and a massage was the quickest way to remedy that….

With a resigned sigh he stretched out on his stomach and practically buried his face in the pillow as he felt the mattress dip when Guerrero moved to sit down on the bed beside him.

"Where exactly does it hurt?"

Junior mumbled his answer into the pillow.

"Dude, I have no idea where 'mlahmulmprphle' is…" The trace of amusement in Guerrero's voice actually made Junior blush.

"Back of my thigh," he repeated. The words were still a little muffled, because he absolutely refused to turn his head, but apparently this time they had been clear enough.

Guerrero hitched up the edge of the towel and placed his hands on Junior's thigh, just above the knee. A hiss of indrawn breath confirmed that he was right on target. He could feel the muscle tight and knotted under his hands. The moment his probing fingers started kneading the tense muscle, Junior let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like the whimper of a puppy.

"Sorry, dude, but you really did a number on this leg. Just relax, it will get better in a minute…".

Gently and repeatedly rubbing and squeezing, alternating pressure in a circular pattern he worked his way up Junior's leg to the top, where the muscle was most tender. By now he could feel Junior relaxing more and more, the almost pitiful whimpers giving way to guttural moans and sighs of pleasure.

Guerrero had been so focused on relieving the tension and working out the knots from the aching muscle, that he hadn't really noticed how high his hands had already wandered until his fingers encountered the edge of the towel he had flipped up earlier. Now realization hit like a flash of lightning just where his probing fingers could end up if he wasn't *very* careful about where he put them. And here he had thought that a massage would be the practical solution to a simple problem. Well, obviously not only one of Junior's plans could go wrong. And if the sharp indrawn breath and the renewed tension in the body under his hands was anything to go by, Junior had just realized the same thing. Taking a deep, silent breath to get his body – and his damnably overactive imagination – under strict control again, Guerrero removed his fingers a safe distance from the "danger zone" and concentrated on working out the last few knots.

Meanwhile Junior was caught up in almost bone-melting relaxation, followed by the sharp, electric shock of realizing that Guerrero's fingers were getting far too close for comfort to finding out exactly what effect his massage had – and he didn't even want to imagine what Guerrero's reaction to that discovery would be. But on the other hand, he didn't really want him to stop either, the surprisingly gentle ministrations felt far too good for that. The massage hadn't been such a bad idea after all. And as long as he didn't have to turn around, his secret would be safe…

"Okay, I think that's enough," Guerrero's voice broke into his thoughts.

This time Junior did turn his head, giving Guerrero his best wounded puppy look. He didn't have much hope that it would actually work, but then again, it couldn't hurt to try….

"My back hurts, too…"

Realizing just what he had let himself in for, Guerrero heaved a sigh and removed his hands from Junior's thigh to continue the massage on his shoulders instead. This was going to be a long night…..


End file.
